


Love is a Science

by orithea (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alchemy, M/M, fun with science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alchemy in a drop of John Watson transmuting him into something entirely different—someone he didn’t think he could be—combining their different essences into an entirely new substance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Science

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Wishing a very happy birthday to wiggleofjudas, who inspires me to try new things.
> 
> I'm no scientist, but I love a good metaphor.

Falling in love is a science.

Chemistry, obviously, and Sherlock appreciates and understands that flood of oxytocin into the pleasure receptors of his brain better than most. The biology he also appreciates: parts meant to fit together in certain configurations, attachments formed for the propagation of the species—neither apply to him, but he’s thankful for evolution, for organ systems, for the human genome and random, infinite combinations of DNA that came together to create the turn of John Watson’s nose, the thin press of his lips, the way his cock curves upwards when he’s hard and desperate to press into Sherlock’s hand.

It is physics: potential energy becomes kinetic when his toes skirt the precipice of Bart’s roof and he goes down over the edge, gravity’s plaything, for _love_. Moriarty is the external force, accelerating him towards this fall, pulling, pushing, gathering momentum until the catastrophic event. John is the external force: fist on cheekbone after he steps over the threshold of 221b for the first time in years; pulling him into a kiss for the first time; pushing inside—home at last.

Mathematics... counting the cadence of John’s heartbeat as he drifts to sleep next to him in their bed. _Theirs_. Calculating the statistical probability that John will be angry with him if he rushes off into unknown dangers on his own, and the likelihood that he’ll forgive him for it, in the end.

Understanding that he no longer wants to do these things alone—well, Sherlock is willing to attribute that to some sort of scientific process. Certainly not logic. There’s nothing logical about the way he feels when he realises that he’ll have John by his side as long as he wants him there (and can’t imagine not wanting).

Alchemy in a drop of John Watson transmuting him into something entirely different—someone he didn’t think he could be—combining their different essences into an entirely new substance. Could be mistaken for mere chemistry but it is something more, something spiritual, the elixir of life. Not a science? It might as well be. He does have the brain of a philosopher, after all.


End file.
